


Regret

by lyricalsoul



Series: Hiatus [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: ACD - Freeform, Broken!Watson, Granadaverse, Here Watson is Married, M/M, Sherlock is missing, Watson!Angst, holmes/watson - Freeform, post-Reichenbach (canon)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Watson's angst, post-Reichenbach</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> A series of fics written long ago, based on a discussion on the Holmesslash List: What happened to Watson during the Great Hiatus? After speculating long and hard, this is what I came up with. I think I broke Watson a bit... okay, a lot, but I promise to put him back like I found him when this is all over and done.
> 
> Not based on any Sherlock episodes, but there are Canon spoilers for those who don't know what happens next...

"HOLMES!" 

And once again, there is no response. I sit down on the nearest boulder and bury my face in my hands. 

It is dark, and we can search no more. I fear the worst, though I refuse to accept that he is gone. 

My best friend, my soul-mate. My brother, my... I cannot speak it, lest I begin to cry like a helpless child. So new, this... thing between us, and now... 

Is this to be my punishment, then? Divine retribution for daring to indulge in my forbidden love while married to another? Though I am not a deeply religious man, perhaps those stories of hell's fire and brimstone and punishment for sins are true, and this whole affair will end with me being an intimate acquaintance of the devil himself. 

But then, who would need hell's fire when the shards of my broken heart are punishment enough? I laugh at that turn of phrase. Holmes would most certainly chide me for such romanticism. 

I scrub my hands against my face and stand. They are waiting for me. They also think I've gone mad, but even though they think that the search for Holmes is hopeless, they have learned to keep silent about their opinions and simply indulge me. 

Gathering Holmes' stick and the precious note he left for me, I begin the walk back toward the hotel. I keep my eyes fastened on the ground, so they cannot see the tears running down my face.

I shall return tomorrow. Perhaps some fresh clue will present itself, and lead me down the correct path. 

I can but try.


End file.
